Peeping Shaun

I already knew that he was there. Watching. Waiting. Every day I waited for the familiar thrill to start me off. Suddenly I felt the cool stare of his ice-blue eyes graze my body, hungrily taking in each exposed millimetre of my ivory skin. Flickers of recognition raised the small hairs on the back of my neck while a small anticipatory shiver trembled down my spine. It was show time yet again, I thought, as I loosened the pale silk scarf from around the soft scoop of my throat, letting it gently cascade down towards my plain, black stilettos and the worn wooden floor below.

By day, I was one of those non-descript office girls. You know the type: hair bunched tightly and regimentally to my scalp, make-up at the bare minimal and outfits that made my Mum look sexy in her annual Christmas outfit of a moth-eaten velvet dress and thick black tights. It wasn't that I didn't want to be sexy: oh no, my boss made sure that any female inferior to her was made to look as frumpy and unsexy as possible in order to make her shine. Unwittingly I went along with it, and in the long run it only drove up my passion to be sexier by night.

It started about a month ago. There I was in my apartment, sunlight streaming through my wide set windows, pouring luxuriously onto the naturally sun-bleached wooden floors. It had taken me seven years of hard graft, of individually scraping every penny I owned to purchase this one bedroom suntrap. The only unfortunate thing was the location: less than a few metres away stood another block of apartments, modern ones with fancy glass balconies and steel-edged doors. Mine was a classic, Victorian model with sculptured ceilings and features that charmed the socks off me, and best of all it belonged solely to me. No snotty flatmates, no awful sponging blokes. No boomerang siblings or miserably single friends. Yes, I guess it did get kind of lonely in the evenings when I could hear the laughter from the family below, but the pros far outweighed the cons.

On this particular day I had been rushed off my feet at the office, and as I stepped through my door I kicked off my uninspiring shoes into the far corner in a half-fit of frustration tempered with fatigue. Taking a second to regain my composure, I paused to stand in the sunlight, allowing it to warm my aching back. Without shutting my blinds, I pulled off my confining, starchy-white blouse with one angry thrust and let my red curls free from their tightly bound clip. The sun caressed my pale skin eagerly and, as I eased my tight skirt past my tiny thong, I felt free and lighter without my work constraints. It was both liberating and thrilling to be standing in full view from the window; I almost willed someone to catch me, adding a frisson of excitement to an otherwise bland day.

Moments later, I felt the now-familiar eyes of a lustful stranger boring onto my sunlit back and buttocks. Quickly I span around, and there - standing on a balcony opposite my ornate antiquated window - stood a man, open-mouthed, watching me. In my head, I had played out similar scenarios before while masturbating frantically within my silken sheets; yet this time, with an actual, real-life, sexy peeping Tom penetrating me with his eyes, the feeling was unrivalled in its intensity. His face was ruggedly handsome, his eyebrows knotted to guard his eyes from the beautiful sunshine. In his left hand hung a forgotten cigarette end, as his intense stare clearly enjoyed this quick, uninvited show from the balcony. Even from a few metres away I could see the visible outline of his semi-hard penis in the blazing hot sunshine. Seeing him seeing me was perhaps the most arousing thing I had been involved in in a long time -- needless to say, being a single office girl in frumpy fashion didn't get you many numbers. But right now, right here, I felt wanted. After moments of withheld breath, the realisation of my blatant exhibitionism in plain sight suddenly struck me and as a blush matching my hair crept up my cheeks, I fled to my adjoining bedroom, my wetness sticking to the little piece of fabric hiding the secrets of my desires.

Despite my subsequent, short-lived mortification, this scenario went on for weeks; come rain or shine I made sure I gave my voyeur something to watch. I began putting matching underwear on every morning in order to indulge him, my handsome observer. Everyday, no matter how hard and trying my day was I waited longingly for my evening to release all my steam in my usual manner. He always gave me his visible approval wordlessly, just watching me intently with that smouldering, piercing stare that would give me valuable material to masturbate over during the lonely nights. Although I secretly did desire a relationship, this silent pact we held led me to orgasm after orgasm after orgasm, and I was scared that anything more I asked for would be rebuked -- or worse, a disappointment to the fantasy that thrived in my mind.

It wasn't until that Thursday night that my stress was at an all time high. I had ended up in the office until way past 8pm, and my anxiety to get home and put on my show was consuming me from within. Regrettably, the intensity of my self-manufactured orgasms was beginning to wane; it was now the time to try something new, something so thrilling and daring that after tonight, nothing from work would get under my skin for the following week.

My routine began as normal. As I swung through my front door I noticed that dusk was beginning to settle and my sun-trap, although warm, was dull. Anxiously, swinging my big Chloe handbag and tweed jacket to the floor, I scuttled across my wooden floor, my new heels clicking with a fierce beat as I checked, hidden by the shadows of his curtains, that he was there. In the half-light, I could see him staring longingly into my flat, waiting as usual. I could just make out the faint burn of his cigarette in his left hand. Good, I thought eagerly, at least he was ready.

Quickly, switching on my fake Tiffany lamp, I gently pulled the scarf from my neck and let it float down gently to my stilettos. I urged myself not to look at him, letting him continue to fantasise that he had yet again caught me unaware. Today I had chosen a pale lilac blouse and, carefully and slowly, I unbuttoned the top, one button at a time. I deliberately, teasingly took my time, making him wait as inch by inch my creamy white skin was exposed. By the last button, I checked on him to make sure he was watching, and I could still make out the faint line of his ever observant, lean frame. I tugged the silken blouse off my arms to reveal my lean biceps, the fabric stroking sensually against my sensitive skin. My nipples - barely encased in their thin, light covering - peaked to attention, joined harmoniously by a soft moan of desire that escaped my throat. Already, just by removing my shirt, I felt my clitoris jump with the anticipation of what could happen, despite already having a detailed plan etched in my mind.

Coming out of my momentary self-indulgent haze, I trailed a red-taloned hand behind my back and slowly, painstakingly slowly, unzipped my expensive tweed skirt, stepping -- stiletto heels and all -- out of the work clothes, becoming Sarah the red-haired vixen. Just one more movement, I told my body as it shivered deliciously, and with a swift unclipping of my hair my red curls settled, ready, on my elegantly carved shoulders. I had become the self-loving temptress, ready to put on my one-woman show.

Suddenly, I saw his balcony light go on, his body edged with a soft white light. In his right hand I spotted a pair of binoculars, focused on me. My clitoris leapt with excitement, and even though I had expected the added thrill of the binoculars, my body ached with desire. Tenderly, I held my creamy, white breasts, which were spilling from my deep green bra set. In full view of this man, I stroked my nipples through the silken fabric, tweaking them and pinching them, sending electric shocks to the very heart of my yearning. They stood proudly to his attention, aching to be let out and paraded for his viewing pleasure.

Burning with desire, I threw my head back in delight, arching my back as I slipped back into a carefully placed leather armchair, my legs spread wide as I gave him a teasing view of what was to come. Slipping one bra strap down, I teased my own flesh, imagining his cool hands touching the same spots eagerly, his eyes roaming over my luscious milky skin. I bit my red lips gently, trying to subdue my desire, but my whole body was so turned on that I wanted to scream. The bra had to come off and ensuring that the watcher was observing I edged my bra off, revealing my small, pert breasts topped with two, cherry like buds. They popped out, hard and pointed, and quickly I strolled towards the window, gazing boldly in his direction.

I had promised myself that tonight I would only masturbate in front of him; but here, in my stilettos, suspenders and deep green thong, I only wanted him. So, with my inhibitions shattered, I beckoned him. The light in his apartment suddenly switched off, and, as I became increasingly aware of the visible wetness soaking my pants I shook with desire and fear: had I pushed it too far?

A few minutes later there was a knock at my door. I froze, still horny, still wet, but solid with fear. Had he reported me? Was it him? Was it someone else? Quickly I slipped on my coal, silk gown, it's cool touch like melted chocolate coating my energized skin. With dread I approached the door, and fearfully opened it.

"Hello," he said quietly, a bottle of champagne in his hand, "That was quite a show tonight." His ice-blue eyes were glued on my rock hard nipples that teasingly peaked the fabric, his erection responding visibly through his grey trousers.

"Hi," I said breathlessly, "come in." I stepped back from the door and waited for him to slip his suit jacket off, and as he did he revealed a white shirt barely covering his well-toned chest.

For a moment, we simply gazed at each other; but it wasn't long before he approached me in earnest, pulling me urgently towards him whilst simultaneously removing my silk gown with diligence. His big, manly hands enclosed my small breasts, his thumbs rubbing back and forth deliberately over the small buds, making me once again shiver in delight. Instantaneously, he pushed his body against mine, his erection pressing directly against my soaking wet groin causing me to groan out loud. In return, I ripped his shirt off, and, mesmerised began to stroke his chest. A short thrust from his groin nudged me onwards as I pulled his trousers down. There, in his muscular glory, was a modern day Adonis ready for my taking and I trembled with delight as he groaned rapturously into my neck.

"You're amazing," he groaned, pulling off the thong deftly with his thumb as I ran my hand down his shaft, causing his muscles to tense with pleasure. He laid me back gently, naked, on to the bed that I had maturbated wildly on most days while I thought of him. I pulled gently on his hands, willing him to fulfil my needs as his eyes roamed openly across my naked flesh. Shuddering, his gaze centred intently at my glistening wet folds, and muttering with desire, he said: "Everyday, you drive me wild...I have to have you." With that, he knelt and buried his face into me, his tongue exploring and penetrating every part of me, sucking my juices and groaning with pent up lust while his magical thumbs span circles on my clitoris.

"Stop!" I gasped, pulling him desperately from between my legs, feeling conflicted with desire and frustration. "I can't cum like this; I want to cum with you inside me." He grinned wolfishly at my words, and in one swift movement, whipped his Calvin Klein underwear off and grabbed a condom from his wallet.

"I was hoping you'd say that," he said, his pupils dilated with sexual desire as he eased the latex on. I pulled him down on top of me, and, wrapping my legs around his muscular hips, I felt a scream whelm up inside me as those weeks of lone masturbation came to a head. At first he teased me, only allowing me to have the head of his penis inside whilst gently kissing my nipples and circling my puckered anus with his finger. Urgently, I begged for him to fill me up; grinning, he pulled my smooth white thighs up to his broad shoulders to allow a deeper thrust. The power of his eagerness coupled with his desperate rhythm meant that within moments of each other, our excitement and indulgence overtaking pleasure, we came, my screams filling the old, Victorian apartment with a renewed lust for life.

For a few moments, he lay inside me, the spurts from his penis against the latex walls giving me little frissons of delight. Slowly, as the orgasm subsided I could feel the embarrassment of my wantoness snaking back into the atmosphere as I lay next to this virtual stranger.

"Look," he said, gently easing out of me, his penis still red and hard from this barely sated sexual chemistry, "I don't really do this sort of thing. You see, I work in an office, and I didn't mean to watch you but you are the perfect antidote to a hard day's slog. I hope you'll let me take you out one night soon?" I grinned in response, recognising the irony and overly coincidental nature of the situation.

"Sure that would be great," I said, "by the way, I'm Sarah."

"And I'm Shaun, pleased to meet you," he said murmured, grinning, stroking my turmoil of red hair. "Now how about a glass of champagne?" he said, standing up in his naked muscular glory, his brown hair mussed softly around his handsome face.

"That would be great," I said again, flinching briefly at my mindless repetition, my work trivia monotony well and true cured. Smiling coquettishly to myself, I knew that this was only the beginning. And who said workplace stress is bad for you?